


“Take Your Time” Is What They Say

by MacksDramaticShenanigans



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Married Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Relationship Discussions, talk about kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22431418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacksDramaticShenanigans/pseuds/MacksDramaticShenanigans
Summary: “So, uh, were you,” Mickey swallows, “y’know,” he gesticulates aimlessly through the air, “serious… about the whole… having kids thing?” He asks.He’s lying flat on his back, sheets pooling around his waist, staring up at the ceiling. His fingers twitch against the silken fabric beneath him, winding into it tightly.The mattress squeaks as Ian shifts beside him. He rolls onto his side, propping his elbow against the pillow to cradle his head as he looks at Mickey— who is still avoiding eye contact with him.Ian doesn’t say anything at first, and Mickey would think he didn’t even hear him if it weren’t for the weight of his gaze, burning into his skin as Ian studies him. Just lies there quietly and picks apart every twitch of Mickey’s face.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 25
Kudos: 321





	“Take Your Time” Is What They Say

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiiiii. It’s me! I’m alive! I know it’s been a hot sec since I’ve posted anything, but rest assured, I’m still writing. Just went through a bit of a dry spell thanks to being home for winter break and such. But I’m back at school now, which means the writing should be flowing again soon lol.
> 
> As you probably have noticed, I’ve decided to dip my toes into a brand new fandom/pairing, which I’m pretty excited about, but also kind of nervous too, because this particular pairing has a very nuanced characterization and lemme tell you it is no cake walk trying to write them. I did my very best though, and this is my first first fic for them so hopefully, with time and practice, I’ll be able to hone them even more.
> 
> Anyways.
> 
> I started watching shameless literally just in time for the end of season 10 (and it took me less than 2 weeks to watch all 10 seasons, idk if I should be more proud or embarrassed about that lmao), so I got to watch the last two episodes live which was nice. Especially since I got to watch MY TWO BABIES GET MARRIED. I COULDN’T BE HAPPIER ABOUT IT!!!!! THEY DESERVE THE WORLD AND EACH OTHER AND SO MUCH HAPPINESS!!!!
> 
> For those that have seen the finale, this fic is completely and absolutely inspired by the like 3 line exchange Ian and Mickey have about having kids. I’m the absolute biggest sucker for my favorite pairings and children/being parents so. That shit hits me right in the emotions every time. I love it. Anyways, I really wanted to explore that concept a little bit further, so I decided to write how I think that would go! 
> 
> A big big shout out to the love of my life, caroline, who is the one that got me into this show and these two in-love-as-fuck motherfuckers in the first place, for reading this over and giving me some feedback. Thank you, thank you, ily <3
> 
> The title comes from [Morning Flowers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o5v8U5J1nsg) by Brock Tyler, which is the song that plays while Ian and Mickey exchange vows (yes I’m that much of a sap that I’m using that song skgfdhff)
> 
> Now, without further ado, please enjoy!!

“So, uh, were you,” Mickey swallows, “y’know,” he gesticulates aimlessly through the air, “serious… about the whole… having kids thing?” He asks.

He’s lying flat on his back, sheets pooling around his waist, staring up at the ceiling. His fingers twitch against the silken fabric beneath him, winding into it tightly.

The mattress squeaks as Ian shifts beside him. He rolls onto his side, propping his elbow against the pillow to cradle his head as he looks at Mickey— who is still avoiding eye contact with him.

Ian doesn’t say anything at first, and Mickey would think he didn’t even hear him if it weren’t for the weight of his gaze, burning into his skin as Ian studies him. Just lies there quietly and picks apart every twitch of Mickey’s face.

The silence is a little unnerving, if Mickey’s being honest. He’d been quick to dismiss the idea of children when Ian first brought it up, but then Ian had seemed so serious when he voiced his own desires. Mickey isn’t looking to start a fight, either. Not so soon into their brand new marriage. But it has been sitting in the back of his mind all night. All morning too. 

The urge to peek over at Ian is strong, but Mickey just manages to rein it in. Instead he runs his tongue over his teeth, then presses his lips together. His jaw works, clenching and unclenching nervously.

Just as the silence tips into just the side of too long and Mickey’s finally about to concede and repeat his question, Ian speaks up.

“Yeah,” comes his answer, short and simple. Honest, too. “I was serious.”

Ian doesn’t elaborate, and Mickey doesn’t put in his two cents, either. He lets the words sink in, soak into the air around them and marinate a little.

“Okay,” he finally says, slowly. His fingers tighten in the sheets and he’s still studying the ceiling.

Ian’s knuckles brush against the side of Mickey’s arm, a barely there touch, but it makes Mickey start.

“What do you think about that?” Ian asks carefully, in that calm, relaxed tone he always adopts so easily.

Mickey’s body shifts, gravitating towards Ian just a fraction of an inch, but he still doesn’t look at him yet. He opens his mouth to answer, but the words get stuck, and the frustration swells. 

“What if I don’t want any?” He asks, the words coming out a little rushed. He chews on his lip and finally pulls his eyes from the ceiling, tilting his chin enough that he can catch Ian’s eyes.

Ian doesn’t react one way or another. He just seems to contemplate Mickey’s words. Roll them around his brain. Figure out what they mean. “You already have a kid,” he points out in a matter-of-fact tone.

Right. Yevgeny. 

Mickey inhales heavily and reaches up to scratch his forefinger against his eyebrow. “That doesn’t count,” he replies automatically, then winces.

Ian’s forehead creases, lower lip pushing out into a tiny frown. 

That didn’t come out right. Yevgeny _is_ Mickey’s kid, his own flesh and blood. Technically, _biologically_ , Ian is right. He does count. But Mickey’s never really felt like the kid was _his_ — which, to be fair, is his own fault. He never really made any sort of an effort to be a presence in the kid’s life. Hell, Ian had done a better job of that than Mickey ever did.

He supposes that part of that can be chalked up to the fact that Mickey has never seen himself as father material. He’s violent, he’s vulgar, he’s been in and out of the joint so many times he’s not exactly what one would call reliable. Combine that with the fact that he himself has never had a good example of what fatherhood entails, along with the norm he grew up with that children were just pawns to help push drugs, rob convenience stores, and act as collateral for whatever deal was being cooked up. Really, the poor kid had been doomed from the start. 

And truth be told, so had Mickey. He’d let all that shit get to him, and instead of trying to rise above it all and do the right thing, he’d chosen not to. He’d chosen to not give two fucks and play right into every single expectation anyone could have had about him. Fatherhood had been a challenge that Mickey hadn’t been up for.

The other part, Mickey thinks, is a little more excusable. Every time he would look at that chubby little fucker it was a constant reminder of the circumstances surrounding his conception. And as much as Mickey tried to put that shit behind him, to not let it bother him, it  _ did _ . It was hard to just ignore how quickly, how easily his father stole away all of his happiness that day. Seeing that baby  _ every day _ in his own  _ home _ had been defeating. And it always left a bubbling simmer of rage beneath Mickey’s skin, too. Rage, and disgust, and a little bit of hatred. Realistically, he knew it wasn’t the baby’s fault, but it had been hard to separate the two.

So Mickey can’t exactly say that he ever felt the pressing desire to be in that kid’s life. But it’s not really like he has much of a choice in that now, even if he wanted to— which, truth be told, sometimes, fleetingly, he does find himself wanting. Sometimes he wishes he could go back and put a little more effort into being in Yevgeny’s life. God knows how much he hated growing up without a steady, nurturing father figure. The guilt that manifests over subjecting his own kid to a similar childhood can be crushing.

Given the chance, he’d like to make it up to the kid. To at least give him a proper apology for dropping the ball like he did— something his own father would never dream of doing. Maybe someday he will get that chance.

He just hopes that wherever Yevgeny has found himself is better than what Mickey could have given him. That he’s surrounded by the love and the care that he deserves.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Mickey corrects, voice faltering at the end.

Ian nods. “I know,” he says, and Mickey trusts that he does know. 

Ian unwinds his fingers from where they circle his own wrists and slides his palm across the sheets until he finds Mickey’s hand. Pulling it from where it’s fisted into the sheets, Ian slowly links their fingers together and squeezes once.

Mickey relaxes beneath the touch. He wants to laugh at himself for being so tense over this conversation in the first place. They’ve only  _ just _ gotten married. Kids are… they’re a blip in the distant future. They wouldn’t happen for a while, if they do happen. It’s just talk right now. Discussion. Conversation. Nothing is set in stone, no promises have been made.

“Is there a reason you wouldn’t?” Ian asks, softly, gently. His eyes are clear, his gaze steady and unwavering as he waits for Mickey to answer. There’s no judgement in them, either. Just a careful curiosity.

Mickey purses his lips and his eyes roll back to the ceiling, his body rolling with them out of Ian’s space. He gives a snort and shakes his head. “Where to fuckin’ begin,” he says. “I mean, I don’t know the first thing about fuckin’ kids. Fuckin’  _ babies _ ,” he continues. “I don’t know how to take care of them and shit. I’m not… I mean, I’m a fuckin’ Milkovich. Milkovich’s aren’t exactly the poster people for good parenting. Christ, just look at my fuckin’ dad. Fucked me up good.” Mickey laughs bitterly. “I don’t wanna be some kid’s Terry, y’know?” He adds, and it comes out a lot softer than he meant for it to.

Ian squeezes Mickey’s palm again, his thumb brushing lightly back and forth against the back. “You won’t be,” he says, and the conviction behind his words is enough to leave Mickey feeling a bit wobbly. Ian sounds so sure of it. Mickey has to swallow around the lump in his throat.

“You’re not your dad, Mick,” Ian continues. “Just like I’m not my dad either. Or my mom.” He chews on his lip, eyes dropping down. “I guess I’m more like her than I want to be, though,” he adds, a sad afterthought.

Mickey’s brows pull together and he doesn’t waste a second tearing his eyes from the ceiling and rolling over into Ian’s space. His hand slips from Ian’s only to come up and cup the side of his neck, his thumb brushing against Ian’s jaw. “Hey, stop that shit,” he snaps. “If I’m not my dad then you’re not your fuckin’ mom.” He says it like it’s the truth, and that’s because it is. Monica may have passed along some unsavory genes, but just because they shared this one thing doesn’t mean Ian was anything like that crazy bitch. 

Ian doesn’t try to argue, thankfully. Mickey would have, though, if he had to. He would do anything to make Ian see that he isn’t Monica, no matter what their DNA said.

Instead, Ian brings his hand up to curl around Mickey’s wrist, his eyes softening as he searches Mickey’s. “If it means anything, I think you’d be a great dad, Mick,” he says.

He’s so earnest about it, and an insurmountable wave of affection for the man in his arms rushes through Mickey.

“I mean it,” Ian continues. “You’ve always taken care of me. Protected me. Been in my corner. You’ve always done anything for me,” he says, awe coloring his tone. 

_ Of course I have _ , Mickey wants to say. “That’s because I love you,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Ian smiles softly, features warm and bright at the same time. “That’s all it takes, isn’t it? You just gotta love the kid and you’re halfway there. The rest is shit you figure out along the way.”

Put like that it doesn’t seem as scary of a concept. You just gotta love the kid. That doesn’t sound so hard.

“That simple, huh?” Mickey asks, meeting Ian’s eyes.

“If we do it together, yeah. I think it would be that simple,” Ian responds.

“Fuckin’ sap,” Mickey says, unable to help the warm feeling that floods through him. He tips his chin up to catch Ian’s lips in a kiss, and as they find their homes in each other’s mouths he thinks, yeah, maybe it would really be that simple.

When they break apart, Ian settles against Mickey’s chest and curls their hands together again. “We don’t have to make any decisions now or anything,” he says. “We’re not making any promises either, okay? We’ve got time.”

Mickey nods and dips down to kiss Ian’s forehead. “We’ve got lots of that now,” he agrees, eyes flitting down to the rings sitting snugly against the fourth finger of their left hands.

Ian sighs happily and wriggles deeper into Mickey’s embrace. “Maybe we can babysit for Lip,” he suggests. “Take his baby for a test drive. See how we like it.” He grins up at Mickey.

Mickey huffs out a laugh. “Take a baby for a test drive, jesus Gallagher. It ain’t a fuckin’ used car,” he says. “Maybe I should be worrying about your parenting style more than mine,” he teases.

But he knows that's not true. If either of them are parent material, it would be Ian through and through. Despite all of Ian’s own reserves about parenthood, Mickey knows he’d make one hell of a father. He’s seen the way Ian was with Yevgeny. He’s seen him with his niece and nephew. With his own siblings, too, when they were still little. Ian’s good with kids, and kids are good with Ian. 

It doesn’t hurt that Ian with kids is fucking cute, too. That certainly sweetens the deal. And it did give Mickey a little bit of a thrill, getting to play house with Ian, back when Yevgeny and Svetlana were still around. When he would come home from work to see Ian with Yevgeny on his hip, greeting him with a kiss to the cheek. 

Domesticity… it’s kind of a nice idea. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It’s not something Mickey ever would have pictured for himself, especially since he’s never really seen himself as a very domestic kind of guy. But then again, he never really saw himself as  _ boyfriend  _ material, let alone  _ husband _ material, and here he fucking is. 

That’s all thanks to Ian, really. He brings out the best in Mickey, as cheesy as it sounds. 

With Ian, maybe fatherhood isn’t such an impossible thing to picture for himself, because with Ian, anything feels possible.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think with a kudos and a comment! 
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/brooklynbabybucky) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/BrklynBabyBucky)! :)


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